Highlander's Sacrifice: A Scottish Medieval Historical Romance

by Alisa Adams

  Drawing his sword, Finn barked an order for the other guards to mimic his caution. His eyes traced the walls above him, the open chasms of the windows, and the tops of the walkways. Was the place truly barren? Or was this an ambush?

  Finn had barely finished the thought before there was the familiar sound of soaring in the air. The quiet, high note of something whizzing through the air—of multiple somethings—was the only warning the group was given. Finn drew up an arm, which was all he had in that second to protect his head and face against the volley of arrows that rained down upon them.

  There was a squeal of pain from Ajax and a blazing heat in Finn’s arm. Finn struggled to keep hold of the reins in his hands. His legs naturally tightened around the flailing, bucking animal, which only sent Ajax into further panic. Finn drew him in tight and looked behind him. Two arrows stood proud, buried in Ajax’s flank. Another protruded from his own bicep.

  "Retreat! Protect the carriage!"

  The order was quick from his lips but not fast enough. Finn looked about behind them, intent on charging back through the open gates, but men had materialized from nowhere and were pushing them closed!

  More men charged into the courtyard from the stables he had thought empty and the castle's front quarters. Some jumped down from the walls where they had hidden flat on their bellies; others charged from inside carts and barrels.

  It was a full-scale ambush!

  Ignoring the pain in his arm, Finn mastered control over Ajax, the initial shock now wearing down, and the gelding's focus coming back under direction. He raised his sword and defended wildly against an onslaught from every direction.

  Used to the battlefields of clan warfare, Finn fought valiantly and with skill. His blade gleamed in the light as he parried and defended, the leather of his boot catching the last dying rays of the sun as he struck out to knock attackers to the ground.

  Where he could take shots that were not fatal, he did. But, when it was a decision between his life and theirs, his sword met flesh, and blood was forced to flow.

  In a moment of space, a pause of fighters still too far as yet to strike him, Finn darted a look at his fellows.

  One had fallen to the original attack. An arrow had sliced through his neck, an unfortunate and lucky shot by equal measure. No archer could aim for such a clean and easy way to kill another, especially when chainmail beneath and a helmet above made the open skin of his throat so small a target.

  The other two fought with a determination to see their lord's daughter safe but without the skill of real conflict experience. They struck hard and wide, open and clear. They left their flanks exposed and didn't keep track of how the fighting drew them away from the carriage, lost in one strike after another.

  The only reason they had not yet perished—that Finn had not yet fallen under the unfair odds of dozens versus one—was that their attackers were not soldiers. That they did not know how to fight. Their weapons consisted of hoes, picks, and the occasional short sword that was more rust than metal. They were farmers, blacksmiths, and the common people of the area. Rebels that had revolted against a master they could not bear.

  And now they sought to murder his would-be wife alongside him.

  Drawn back to his own defense as a screaming wild man with a hatchet held aloft came at him, Finn barred the attack, swept his blade so the tool was knocked from the rebel's hand, and then struck the butt of his hilt against the fighter's temple. The man dropped to the ground, heavy and hard, and in enough time for Finn to swing his sword around and parry an oncoming attack from his left.

  Swing, block, parry, kick. Strike, shift, kick, and hit. Down went the field hand, back the farmer was pushed. The miller, smelling of his ground grain, was knocked unconscious. The blacksmith, still sooty of the skin, took a slashing strike to the chest.

  Finn did not let up, for he knew that the moment he did, the carriage would be set upon. His only option was to continue until there was no one left, until this horde of ambushers was cut sparse enough that he had time to breathe and think about a proper defense. They needed to fight free of this castle but had not the time nor muscle to pull open gates that had needed three men to push closed.

  Finn had already spied the way that the courtyard curled around the tower, that it spread out towards its most northern face. There was no telling if there were gates or open entryways further that way or if there was a dismantled wall that Ajax could jump. But he had not the moment to investigate and could not leave the carriage.

  A cry of fright had Finn's head whipping around so hard he felt a strain in his neck.

  The noise had been Merith. Fearful and screaming.

  Without his notice, the guard protecting the right-hand side of the carriage had fallen, the door had been wrenched open, and two men sought the beauty that was inside. They scrambled over the body of the guard, the dead man's horse prancing away in fright of the noise and smell of death. They had reached inside and grabbed hold of their bounty and now sought to yank Merith from inside her protective coach.

  Finn's hands reached instinctively.

  Ajax was turned and his position in front of the carriage was abandoned. Merith's cries of fright were ringing in his ears, the sight of her delicate, pale arm all that he could see. The men clung to her, wrapping ugly, gnarled hands around her wrists. They yanked and pulled and were reaching for handfuls of her dress.

  Finn roared a call of war and lifted his blade. The first of the men was cut to the ground and the second knocked off his feet as Ajax charged into them. Their holds on Merith were lost, and Finn reached to replace their groping hands with his own.

  "Give me your hand!"

  Finn wasn't sure if it was fear that had paralyzed Merith or the desire not to touch him, to not ascend to the horse and be so bodily close to him. It was unladylike, undignified. And, right now, it was thoroughly necessary.

  "Now, Merith!"

  Perhaps it was his lack of using her title and his use of her given name. Perhaps it was just the barking command in his voice. Perhaps it was the way smoke had suddenly started to fill the air or the moans of injured men rising from the ground. Whatever it was that snapped Merith from her state of shock, Finn was thankful for it.

  In a moment, she had dived forwards, practically falling on the arm he extended towards her. With a hard hold and a strength that he hadn't been aware that he had, Finn wrapped an arm around her middle and lifted her clean from her feet.

  In a heartbeat, he had her sitting across the saddle before him, her side against his chest. One hand held her tight; the other was secured around Ajax's reins. He wanted to reach for his shield, to hold it before her, but there was no time for him to unfasten it from his pack. At least if she sat before him he could witness any dangers. If she were at his back, she could take an arrow without his notice.

  "Hold on!" he demanded, shouting over the noise of the conflict, even as she sat so close.

  At first, only the very tips of her fingers clung to the front of his shirt but as Ajax reared against another assault and plunged forward into a gallop, she squeaked and grabbed whole handfuls of his clothes.

  Finn knew that one of her guards was still alive. The man who fought on the other side of her carriage was still mounted, still defending, likely watching them ride off or chasing in their wake. If he was to follow them then he would do so but if he died...

  Finn could not afford to feel guilt that he was not staying to help fight by the man's side.

  Their duty was to Merith, not to each other. And Finn could not defend her within the carriage with only two people. Their only option now was to seek an escape.

  "We are not your enemy!" Finn tried for perhaps the dozenth time as they charged through the crowd. Ajax's speed was too mighty for weapons to land upon them, swinging strikes falling empty.

  He had seen people such as these before when sent to quell the occasional uprising. They were ordinary men, pushed to the edges of desperation by circumstances beyond the
ir control. Fueled by the gnawing pain of hunger and poverty, they would fight with all of their aggression but none of their head. It was the only reason the two of them were still alive. Had these men had any sense, any unity or organization, the little party would have been decimated in the work of a moment. It was their wildness that made them so ineffective.

  "We are not your enemy! We do not wish to fight!"

  His words landed on deaf ears. He saw no changes in the men, no comprehension on their faces. They were beyond reason, beyond communication.

  The only option Finn had for Merith's safety was to get them out.

  Riding as fast as Ajax's legs could carry them, Finn was quick with the reins. Merith's hold on his shirt let him use both hands, holding the animal on a tight rein and shifting him around obstacles, between fighters, and out in a sweeping circle around the open courtyard.

  "Hold on!" he cried, when a cart was unavoidable. Ajax leaped over it with all the skill of the mighty steed that he was but his landing jolted them, sending Merith screaming and her hands scrambling to take a tighter grip. Finn felt his shirt pull tight and cut into the side of his neck.

  He had not the time to comfort her, to whisper calming words in her ear.

  He had spotted their route out.

  Up ahead, there was a cutaway in the wall, an arch that had been built like a window. An iron grate had been fitted as a doorway, likely opened for the delivery of goods and cargo from the grounds beyond and secured hard and fast when not in use. It was likely the way the rebels had set upon the castle in the first place. The grate now stood open, forgotten in the chaos of the fighting. Either the rebels had not thought that the envoy would survive long enough to skirt the courtyard and discover the exit, or they simply believed the opening too small to be of consequence.

  Finn measured it with his eyes.

  Ajax could fit through. Despite his impressive size, the horse was a fine jumper. He drew his legs in tight, he kept his head down. He would fit. The question was, would they?

  Swallowing, Finn recognized it as their only choice. It was dive for an exit that might take off their heads or wait for the insurgents to do that themselves; chancing the escape was their only hope of being alive to see the sun rise again.

  With the brightness of the day now entirely sunk beneath the horizon, the courtyard was swamped in darkness. Shadows had become inky black. The only light came from burning torches in the stables and the fires that had broken out because of it. Flickers of angry red, of battle and blood, branched across the stonework and turned everything grotesque. The roar of the flames pounded in Finn's ears. He ducked to avoid a shot from a nearby archer and parried away a swing of a hoe with his arm. His bicep still burned but he couldn't remember why. His eyes remained focused on that one opening, that one light of freedom.

  "Merith, when I tell you, you need to lay flat on the horse's neck! Don't think about why, don't hesitate. Just duck low and hug him close!"

  Heavy, frightened breathing was all that came back to him in return.

  Finn wanted to look at her, to check she had heard him, to ensure that she was alright. But it took all of his concentration and focus to guide Ajax at high speed, defend against the rebels, and keep them on target for the alcove. They would need speed. There was no going back from this choice.

  Finn kicked Ajax in the sides, spurring him to greater power. His hooves dug hard into the stone, clashing thunderous noise beneath them.

  Only ten meters from the alcove... Finn launched a kick at an approaching farmer.

  Just eight meters from the alcove... Finn reached and grabbed the shaft of a pick swung at his shoulder. He wrenched it from its owner's hands.

  Just four meters from the alcove... Finn threw the pick at an approaching miner with an ax. It knocked him sideways and forced him to duck out of the way.

  Two meters from the alcove...

  "Now!" Finn shouted.

  Merith leaned forward but it wasn't enough. Finn's hand found her shoulder and pushed down hard, twisting her against Ajax's neck. His dropped himself, falling down the horse's sides and gripping only with his thighs as the gelding leaped hard and long. Ajax’s neck stretched, his legs came in. Finn felt a heavy hit against his lower back, the jolt knocking him forwards into Merith. He heard the clop of hooves on the stonework and prayed it was not enough to unsettle the jump and have Ajax land wrong.

  They hung in suspense, in the open air that no longer smelled of ash. The fresh air of the grounds beyond swept over them like a curtain of cool.

  As if they had a small eternity of time to hang there, Finn's mind checked himself over. He felt his breathing, how it pushed his chest down over Merith's side. He heard his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He sensed the warmth of the figure buried beneath him, pushed down against the horse and held there by his arm. His hand had fallen to Merith's chest, his palm against her lower ribs. Her breathing was hysterical, her fear tearing at something inside of him.

  With a thump and a jolt, time was back to normal. Ajax landed awkwardly but still upright. He took a second to settle his feet and find his balance and then they were galloping once more.

  Cries and shouts echoed behind them, bouncing off of the walls and screaming out into the night.

  Finn ignored all of them.

  His only focus was the lands that stretched out ahead of him. The open field they stormed through, and the dark mass up ahead that he thought might be a forest. They needed the cover of those trees to avoid the fall of arrows. Only then would he be able to slow Ajax and set him on the long journey that would see them as far away from that castle as possible.

  The only question was, where exactly were they to head?

  10

  At first, Merith had thought there was something wrong with the horse. When the darkness of the open evening sky was replaced with the complete darkness of wooded coves and the shield of trees, the creature had slowed to a careful walk. It was then that she had noticed the strange shaking that seemed to be happening with every step. A tremor that ran from the animal’s hooves to its saddle and into herself. Her cheek brushed against Finn's shirt as she was shifted back and forth by the nervous movement. She had waited for Finn to calm the animal, or perhaps adjust their path. Instead, he had released a hand from the reins and rubbed the wide breadth of his palm up and down her arm. The silk of her gown brushed over her skin to and fro, offering a little warmth in the twilight.

  It was only then that she realized the horse was fine. It was she that trembled from head to toe.

  Curled into the saddle, her knees drawn up, her small body hunched against the hard but warm surface of Finn's chest, Merith held no control over the shaking. Fear had crippled her muscles and sent them into little energetic spasms. It was as if every inch of her wished to thrash and flail, to run as far away as she could. And yet that same terror was working as binding chords of steel around her limbs, keeping her exactly where she was. She could not move; she could not remain still. And so, she shook.

  "It's okay..."

  The two little words were more breathed into her ear than spoken, and Merith only shook harder. What was happening to her? Where was she? What was going on?

  How had her life descended into such chaos in only a few days?

  A few moments ago, she had been a lady of fine position, riding in a carriage from one castle to another, soon to be a laird's wife. While she had held her own concerns of such a future, none of it had been foreign to her. She had known her duties and purpose in the world since she was a young child.

  Now, there was nothing of her old self that she recognized. There was no comfort in the way that she was traveling. Her gown and hair were a mess, her servant gone, and her guards violently taken from her. The castle that should have been her protection had become her grave. And now she was cuddled up to the body of a male that was not her betrothed.

  Every part of her teachings and tutorship told Merith that she needed to break away. A lady would back awa
y, insist that the man in question slide to the floor and lead the horse so that she might ride alone. Merith was fairly confident that Finn would do as she instructed, if she asked it of him. And yet, she needed the warmth that rose from his body. Shaking and cold down to her bones, she could no more have stopped herself drawing closer to his lap than she could have stopped breathing.

  In that moment, it didn't matter if she was as insignificant and cumbersome as a babe. It didn't concern her that she was behaving so entirely without decorum and respectable breeding. Her eyes closed tight, and her body curled up further, as if to reject the real world that would chastise her behavior. She needed to be warm. She needed the smell on Finn's shirt to chase away the images of what had happened back at the Mackay estate. She needed to sleep.

  It was bizarre that the body could decide something so quickly.

  One moment Merith was trembling from head to foot, her nerves pulled taut and her senses on high alert. She had heard every crushed leaf beneath the horse's steps, the way the animal shifted the bit in his mouth. She had sensed the smell of pine and sweat and a tang that was all male on Finn's skin. Her cheeks had felt the passage of the wind through the trees, and her hair had ruffled with the breeze.

  She had been aware of everything that happened around her—until her mind had decided that its limit had been reached, her energy had been depleted, and there was nothing left for her to fight against.

  That she was now safe.

  Within the next few heartbeats, her trembling had stopped and she had fallen asleep in the arms of her defender.

  When she awoke, Merith's world was, for a moment, even scarier.

  No longer on a horse, nor possessing the heat of those strong, supportive arms around her, Merith froze in place as soon as she realized that she was awake. She kept her eyes closed, her limbs still. She did not know what she would find when her lids opened and she was able to see. Some deeply buried instinct of self-preservation told her to be sure of her surroundings before she showed her wakeful state to others that might be lurking.